


Walk the Straight Line

by pagan



Series: Resuscitating the Muse [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 18:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4756055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pagan/pseuds/pagan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>but I don't like the way things are</i>
  <br/>
  <i>and I keep falling to my knees</i>
  <br/>
  <i>somewhere in the middle of this</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walk the Straight Line

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: daredevil  
> I had a devil of time writing for this prompt (ironic, since it was my contribution to the prompt pool). Charlie Cox in Diagon Alley kept running through my head, but I ended up with this instead.  
> Lyrics are from Somewhere in the Middle by Dishwalla.

I signaled the bartender for another drink, angry and disappointed at what had happened earlier, and only wanting the burn of the whisky in my throat to make it all go away--

 _I was out the other day_  
_and I saw you in your big black car_  
_and I was waving as you were passing_  
_cause I know who you are_

 

I gulped it down, but the smooth taste of it only underscored the bitterness coursing through me. I recalled with startling clarity how I'd seen him across the street earlier in the day. I'd waved at him, but he'd completely ignored me. I knew he'd seen me though. There was a split second of awareness tightening his features, right before he turned his head away as if I didn't exist, as if I'd never meant anything to him. As if we'd never been--

"Hey."

 _His_ voice, low and smooth like that expensive bottle of Macallan I'd bought. Best thing the Muggles ever made, I thought irreverently as I stared hungrily at the man sitting down next to me.

He brushed his hair back from his face, the dark brown of it contrasting sharply with his fair skin, as he signalled the bartender for a drink. He smiled with easy charm as he traded some quip or other with the latter. And I thought to myself--

 _You had this look that of an angel_  
_it was such a bad disguise_  
_did you think for second I would not realize_

I pointedly turned back to my drink, and took another swallow for good measure.

He cleared his throat.

I tried to ignore him; instead, I stared at the scarred and sticky bar top. The wood was surprisingly worn smooth in some places, and the thought ran through my head that it must have survived through years of drinkers leaning over the same, scratching their pain in the wood, drowning their sorrows in their pints. When have I turned so disgustingly maudlin?

He drummed his fingers on the bar top, and suddenly, I got angry again. _Of course. It was_ his _fault._

I turned towards him. "Why the fuck did you ignore me?"

He raised an eyebrow. “How many have you had?” He nodded at the glass in my hand.

That infuriated me even more. As if he had the _right_ to ask. And all that anger and despair that sat inside me boiled right up again, and I wanted nothing more than to start a fight with him, but--

_it was late and I was lonely  
and it’s such a long way home_

And I was too drunk to Apparate. No one would welcome me home with open arms, anyway.

And he was right next to me; I could feel the warmth of his skin, smell the scent that was uniquely his. So close, and yet, so far. I turned to him--

 _So I asked you if you'd join me_  
_For a single last call drink_  
_So you turned and bought us two_  
_And you didn't even blink_

I couldn't recall the amount of drinks we had, but drinking made him angry; it loosened his tongue, and I could hear the words, cradle them to my heart, of how he wanted me as much as I wanted him, and I thought--

_When you drink it makes you angry  
When I drink I want you more and more and more_

I must have drunk more than I thought, because suddenly, all I could see was the way his lips moved as he spoke: of our time together previously, of how we’d swore never to let anything, or anyone, tear us apart.

“Theo,” I said, and he turned and looked at me, eyes intense. And I felt the hot rush of desire thrumming through my veins--a feeling I thought I’d long since lost when I lost him--giving birth to a recklessness I would never have indulged in, much less in public.

But with Theo… He made me _feel_.

Greatly daring, I grabbed onto his shoulders and planted a sloppy kiss on his lips, much to the surprise of our bartender. I felt Theo’s lips move against mine, the stubble above his lip and on his chin softly abrading my skin. I parted my lips and welcomed him into my mouth, and it was glorious.

Until I felt Theo lightly push me away.

He looked like he wanted to devour me and punch me at the same time.

“Draco, we can’t do this.”

“Why not?” I snarled, frustrated.

“Because you’re married.” He shook his head. “You made a choice, and you chose Astoria.”

And that hit me like a fist in the gut, and I’m--

  
_tripping hard falling down onto the ground_  
_cause I can't stand up_  
_and I can't fall down_  
_and I'm somewhere in the middle of this_

He licked his lips and I _yearned for_ him.

But he was right. I left him; I capitulated to familial pressure to marry, to somehow, through political maneuvering and an arranged marriage, restore the Malfoy name. _Scions of old Pureblooded families who had aligned themselves with the Dark Lord had no other choice, did they,_ I thought bitterly. And after any war, the losers were always expected to toe the line, walk the straight and narrow.

_well I find it hard  
I always tried to find the sane life_

 

And so I had left Theo, and all the promise of what could have been. Traded it for a life with Astoria, a life I never wanted.

I wanted to apologise, to plead for him to stay, just a little while longer. But I must have hesitated too long because in the end, he walked away.

_but I don't like the way things are_  
_and I keep falling to my knees_  
_somewhere in the middle of this_


End file.
